Death of Tybalt
by Sycronas
Summary: A novelization of the battle outside Aspia.


Beneath a cloud ridden sky, the wall of Aspia stood crumbling and smoldering amidst ash and smoke. It had seemed invincible, impenetrable, destined to remain standing, yet now a gaping hole resided where one was stone. The city lay weakened, vulnerable, its defenses neutralized by tank fire. Stunned from the great blast, Medion's army one by one slowly crawled to their feet. They could hardly believe they had survived the explosion. The Prince scanned the field, watching his army rise up from the ground. Though weary, and drained, they rejoiced in their victory, for it had not come without great bloodshed. Grasping his lance tightly, Sir Campbell moved slowly beside the Medion and Grantack. His face was grim.

"Surely Garvin has been defeated, yet I see no sign of the other party…" The old knight said, letting out a cough from the smoke that had filled his lungs. It was at that moment a figure appeared atop the remaining wall. As the smoke settled, his body came steadily into focus, and General Tybalt peered down upon Prince Medion's forces, with eyes angry and hateful. At first, nothing was said. Then, the ringing of metal echoed from high above the city, as the general drew forth his blade.

"Now, you will face the great General Tybalt. You will pay for the destruction of the great wall of Aspia, though I never dreamed the Empire would break through it. I shall destroy you, for it is my destiny. I will avenge Headland and Swampland, which you, the Medion army, have occupied. You will go no further. " He boasted with pride and conviction, watching the remnants of Medion's army collect themselves, while Grantack stood in shock at the accusations being thrown down upon them.

"What are you talking about? We have never occupied the Republic, Garvin invaded Aspia! It is he who has caused this destruct-" The advisor responded, yet the General would not heed his words, cutting him off in mid sentence.

"Still your tongue, you filthy imperial dog. This is no kind quarrel between our countries, it is war. Garvin may have been aiding Arrwant in the destruction of Aspia, but now they are both stopped, and your own defeat is imminent. If not for the tank blasts, the walls would still have remained standing, though we were prepared for such an occurrence. Under the orders of King Benetram, we have been stationed here to surprise the invading army. From the fearful looks on your faces, it seems that we have succeeded. " Tybalt spoke in arrogance. Beside the general, another figure then appeared, adorning familiar red attire, with his face shrouded by cloth, though he was difficult to recognize from such distance.

"Who is that beside you, General?" Grantack asked, to which General Tybalt smiled.

"A survivor of Garvin's army, the one who informed us of your strategy." The dark man then stepped forward, and his shadowed identity came into light.

"I will protect General Tybalt with my life, and destroy your pathetic army. None of you shall live to breathe again." Yasha stated, in a voice vacant of all emotion. Grantack's eyes grew wide, the many gears that turned behind the scenes becoming visible.

"Yasha, I should have expected you to be here. So in truth, all of this, it was but a lie arranged by your leader. Domaric is using these inner conflicts to gain passage into the capital…" Grantack deduced, the gravity of the situation weighing down upon him. The general then scoffed at Medion's forces, allowing his sword to glimmer in the few rays of light that managed break through the endless line of clouds.

"You have a powerful army Medion, but I shall not be defeated. I command an elite force with which to stop your advance into the capital. There will be no victory for you here, Prince, here you face the true flame of the Republic. I will not call for help as I did in Barrand. Here is where I shall stand. Advance!" Tybalt commanded, and as he did, a small squadron came forward from the city gates, amongst the general's other soldiers. Medion recognized them instantly, these fighters he had met before, those under the command of Synbios, the son of Lord Conrad. The outrage, the hate in their eyes, the sense of betrayal, Medion could not stomach it. They, like his own army, were weary from battle, but that did not deter them. They continued advancing, ignoring the demons of fatigue as they prepared for combat. At the front flew Fynding, his wings flapping in the smoke filled air.

"You have betrayed the trust of the Synbios battalion Prince Medion. I will not forgive this!" He cried out. General Tybalt's force then began its charge from behind Aspia's crumbling walls, the sparks of war fully ignited. Medion, reluctantly, drew his sword, realizing they were now beyond reasoning. He commanded his troops into formations, but the fight emerged so quickly that arrangements all across the battlefield became purely chaotic. The prince could not hold himself back. He marched into the heart of the battle, with his rapier drawn. He felt responsible for the innocent blood that would soon be spilled, for the tragedy that now occurred.

"Hold together!" Shouted Sir Campbell, while the echo of clashing metal filled the air, mixed with the smell of blood which had become more potent than the lingering smoke. Medion continued forward, his rapier already red from an encounter with an Aspia soldier. There was no time to feel sorrow, he knew, for his thoughts could be only of his own troops, only of their safety. Such was the way of a commander.

"Ah, there you are Medion. At last we meet." Came a proud voice. Medion turned to see General Tybalt, with his majestic long sword in hand, eyes bearing the fire of a swordsman. It was here Tybalt proved himself more than an aristocrat, more than a mere politician, proved himself a man willing to fight his own battles. The prince stepped lightly, carefully, as he engaged the general.

So close to it now…

When Prince Medion stepped just within Tybalt's reach, The General lashed out with a swing of his blade. It sliced through the air with great speed, and the prince felt the weapon gently breeze by the edge of his face. He stumbled back a step, composing himself. The General did not relent. He swung viciously at Medion, with powerful precise strokes. The Prince could do little more than retreat from the General's onslaught by way of defensive parries, waiting for Tybalt to grant him an opening.

He tried to remain patient, feeling out Tybalt's pattern of attack. The general maintained a continuous flow of strikes, despite the great weight of the sword, and used his superior reach so effectively, that the prince found it difficult to get into closer quarters. It would only take an instant for Medion to slip in and end the duel with a single lunge. Perhaps the general knew this also, knew that if he slowed even for a second he would lose. Bearing a cold look in his eyes, Tybalt rushed forward with all of his remaining speed and strength. He aimed a powerful, well calculated slice at Medion's neck. The prince raised his rapier in defense, and felt himself pushed from the impact as their blades clashed. It was then that Medion lost his footing, grasping the handle of his rapier tightly while he dropped.

I have come too far to turn back…

The tide of battle had since turned against Tybalt, even as he threw down the prince. The general could sense his impending defeat. The Synbios squadron had performed admirably, beautifully, but they alone were not enough to grant him victory. If he could but kill the prince, the morale of the Imperial army would be broken. If he could but kill Medion, the victory he so desperately sought would be his. There was no other path to follow, he would claim his prize now.

"Die well Prince!" Tybalt yelled, consumed by pride as he struck rashly at Medion with his blade. Narrowly, the prince evaded the weapon, and then lurched forward onto his knees, seizing the opening he had waited for so long. The general refused to slow himself, and he raised his sword again to strike the killing blow. The tip of the prince's rapier then slipped in between the general's armored chest plates, driving into his flesh. He stared down as the blade impaled him, his own sword still raised high, poised to kill. Victory was close, so near to him, and yet he could not grasp it, though he struggled with all of his might, he did not have the strength to bring his weapon down upon the prince. Tybalt felt blood trickle down the corner of his mouth. Pain shot up through his spinal column when Medion pulled back his weapon, and his body went numb. The majestic sword then fell from his finger tips, and the General floated slowly towards the ground.

I…have lost?

Tybalt lay still, staring up at the sky as he heard the sounds which accompanied his grave defeat. His army had fought hard, bravely, but they were no match for the Imperials. The cries of battle diminished after a time, and he heard his lieutenants calling for retreat. It was ironic to the general, even as he rotted on the field , that his loss had helped destroy their morale. An army without a great leader at its front lacks the fire of one that does, thus Medion had succeeded in doing what he could not. When their leader had fallen, their bravery began to falter, and after most had been captured or killed by the prince's force, the remaining Republic soldiers then fled for city, hoping there they held a chance of making a greater stand against the invaders.

Medion stood over the fallen general, eyes filled with pity. Grantack and Campbell soon joined him, and they gathered around Tybalt, as he lay dying. It was clear that the man was beyond healing now, and the blood began to pool around his failing body. He stared up at them with resentment, coldness, while the warmth was drained from him.

"It seems you have defeated my army Medion…if only you had not come. The tank would have assisted in the takeover, and Aspia would have been given to me." He stated regretfully. Sir Campbell shook his head, realizing the truth.

"So you knew about Garvin. You were going to aid him in his quest. What about the words of the republic you believed in? Did they mean nothing to you?" Questioned the old knight. Tybalt coughed, and more red fell from his lips, before he answered back.

"The dream of equality…could never have been achieved in my lifetime. It was not possible for that occur at all." The general reasoned, his voice entwined with bitterness and regret. Grantack kneeled next to him.

"However, Benetram still believes those words. The responsibility of the Republic falls on his shoulders. Why not talk about your beliefs with him?" Asked Grantack, looking upon the fallen general with sorrow. Tybalt then gazed back with cold eyes, eyes that had witnessed the harshness of reality long ago, eyes that were undiluted by grand idealistic visions.

"The obligation of the Republic has already caused its citizens to become enraged. People do not like poor harvests…this country has become a tiresome burden on most of us. It was all a dream, and I awoke from it long ago."

They know nothing of our plight. A just government means little when its people starve and die.

"Suffering is to be expected Tybalt. Garvin suffered when creating his neutral city before he fell into corruption, did he not? This is a sad result of your beliefs." Sir Campbell stated, shaking his head at the dying General. Tybalt did not weep as he passed, did not relent. He lay grasping the hilt of his sword, feeling his life essence fade away. He lamented, lamented only his own arrogance and pride, for they had taken him very far from the true victory he sought.

I do not feel regret. I did what must be done. They will curse my name, and call me traitor. They will remember me as a virtue less man who died a virtue less death. I am merely a man who awoke from a dream, and I saw no light for my starving people. The powerful will always exploit the weak, no matter the titles or labels we apply. Equality, such a thing does not exist in this place. Perhaps it is only in death that we are all equal. I….I… feel nothing, anymore.


End file.
